


Reign On Me

by curds_and_wheyface



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: Arranged Marriage AU, Bathing, Can be read as underage or with Tom in his late teens, First Time Bottoming, Fluff, M/M, Older!Chris, Regency Era, an abundance of fingering, or thereabouts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 06:50:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3165380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curds_and_wheyface/pseuds/curds_and_wheyface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young and sheltered, Prince Thomas must be married before he can take up the throne. The Royal Advisors feel that Lord Hemsworth is the best fit, regardless of the Prince's feelings on the matter. (Additional chapter added.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Reign On Me

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the prompt: Tom is a prince that is being married of to someone much older which is Chris AU. At first Tom doesn't like his husband, but after a while he starts to trust him.
> 
> I'm not a historian, this isn't accurate or even based on a specific time period.
> 
> Thanks go, as always, to the wonderful [rangerdanger](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rangerdanger/pseuds/rangerdanger) who was patient with me when I complained and gave this a thorough beta read.

It wasn't that Lord Hemsworth was unattractive - quite the opposite, in fact - it was just that Thomas had been assured he would have time to decide his own suitor, and instead he had been thrust upon the most eligible they could find at short notice.

It was imperative that he be ready to take the throne at the first sign of his father growing weak, they had said, leaning on the importance of him being married before that happened. The people would much more readily accept such a young Prince if he was already 'settled' in his personal life. If there were any doubts of Thomas’ capabilities then he would be forced to sign a regency order, relinquishing his powers to somebody else, and so he had reluctantly agreed to their terms.

None of them had expected such a sudden illness to drag the King to his deathbed, much less in the summer when the weather was so fine.

"A summer wedding is the best sort, My Prince," David, his valet, said as he fastened the cravat. Together since boys, Thomas had always allowed such informal conversation between them but this morning he was in no mood. Shooing David with a wave of his hand he took to straightening the necktie himself, irritated by his own shaking fingers.

Lord Christopher Hemsworth would make a fine Prince Consort, the advisors said. He had an empathy for the commoners and a fine jaw that would portrait well. Thomas had huffed at that and sunk low in his chair.

Walking around the gardens was the done thing in summer when courting, and the Royal Grounds had vast gardens indeed. Thomas hadn't walked with Lord Hemsworth since the proposal - done by the advisors without Thomas' presence - and the thought that the man was now, officially, his future husband left him feeling unsettled, his knees shaking as he made his way towards the gates.

Lord Hemsworth was there by the tall bushes with his neat, golden hair tied back and his arms behind him, his posture regal and strong. He was smiling, his eyes pinched in a way that had always made Thomas' stomach feel odd. He was older than Thomas had expected his husband to be, and that smile made crows feet beside his eyes and dents in his cheeks. As Thomas made his approach Lord Hemsworth dipped his head respectfully.

"Good morning, My Prince," he said when Thomas stopped before him, reaching out to take Thomas' hand and kissing not the back as he had done before but the palm; a tender gesture that seemed not presumptuous but appropriate in its familiarity. Still, Thomas pulled his hand away at first opportunity and let it fall to his side, nodding genially.

"Lord Hemsworth." He didn't mean to sound so stiff.

His suitor’s eyes softened, his smile closed-lipped now. "Please," he murmured, the smallest shake of his head. "Won't you call me Christopher? Now that we're to be..."

He gestured, with his large hand, towards the grand palace, and Thomas felt his eyes following those long, substantial fingers. Would his husband love him, he wondered, or was the desire simply for a title?

“I suppose I must,” Thomas said, looking to his feet. “Eventually.”

They walked without urgency around the grounds, Lord Hemsworth commenting once again on the wild flowers by the pond and occasionally pausing to squint up into the sun. His profile in the yellow light looked almost perfect, a strip of skin exposed between his chin and his necktie as he tilted his head back to bask in the glow.

He wore his clothes well and, although he would never admit it, Thomas had thought about it and supposed that his body would most likely be as fine as his face. He rode a horse with the confidence of somebody with strong thighs and his wide shoulders narrowed to an acceptable waist.

Thomas supposed it would have to be consolation enough that he at least enjoyed looking at the man who would soon be his husband. And an hour later, just before they emerged once again from the maze of tall bushes, when Lord Hemsworth leaned close to lay a chaste kiss upon his warm cheek, Thomas felt his stomach flutter and had to dig his fingernails into the meat of his palm to stop himself from running back to the house.

-

The ceremony was rather a small affair for a Royal wedding, mostly due to the fact that the advisors deemed it gaudy to make a lavish event of it with Thomas' father on his deathbed nearby. Still, the people of the Kingdom gathered in their droves to wave and throw petals as the carriage passed.

Thomas pressed his hands between his knees and tried to focus on breathing.

"Look how they adore you," David gleamed, perched in the seat across as Thomas had requested. "They already know you're to be the best King this land has ever known. Especially now, with Lord Hemsworth bedside you."

Thomas blinked. "I had no idea you were such a supporter of his."

Still smiling out at the crowd, David nodded. "Oh yes. His policies and ideas for housing reform would really benefit my family and others like them."

Bemused, Thomas wondered how on earth his valet seemed to know more about his fiancé's politics than he did.

"He's a good man, Thomas, I'm quite certain of it," David said with confidence. He rarely used Thomas' name rather than his title, and somehow it made his message resonate all the more.

-

The people had always made him nervous, from the moment he was old enough to understand the weight of their expectations. Puberty had been particularly painful, sitting unhappily for portraits and all the while pleading internally that the artist would gloss over his unruly hair and paint a more stately impression of his posture than was realistic.

When Thomas emerged from the carriage in his wedding suit the crowd fell near silent, seeming to suck in a synchronised gasp as though they were a single entity. Not one of them moved for a moment, save for a small girl in her father's arms, maybe five or six years old, who leaned over the rope barrier with a single, yellow flower.

"For me?" Thomas smiled, stepping closer to the crowd than he ever had before in order to take it. The little girl beamed and dipped her head in a curtsy of sorts, a move that had clearly been rehearsed with her parents. Thomas, unsure what to do with his flower, slipped it into one of the decorative button holes on the lapel of his suit jacket.

"Thank you," he smiled back, reaching out to momentarily grasp her small hand before allowing the advisors to guide him inside with one final wave of his hand.

Inside the doorway David straightened the flower and stepped back to look him over one final time before nodding his head and gesturing for Thomas to enter the church. Reassured by the presence of his faithful valet, Thomas did just that.

It had been a point of contention between himself and the advisors that he was being made to walk down the aisle like a blushing bride, but it had been pointed out that they couldn't very well both wait for each other at the altar, and since Thomas had been allowed male suitors in the first place, extinguishing any chance of siring an heir, he had eventually conceded to their wishes.

Lord Hemsworth stood tall and proud before the Archbishop, his hands joined in front of him. He was a picture of calm, his suit much in keeping with the colours and fabrics of Thomas', and from the moment Thomas emerged onto the carpet those blue eyes didn't stray from him.

Thomas felt as though his weak knees might not carry him all the way, his nerves and curious flutterings of excitement almost getting the better of him. His mother gripped his hand as he passed, giving it a light squeeze. She wore dark colours despite the occasion; a sign of respect for the dying King even though she was no longer his wife.

Thomas smiled at her with as much reassurance as he could, and when he looked up again at Lord Hemsworth some feet away he found much the same reassuring smile on his face too. David's words in the carriage came back to him once more, and with a breath he let his mother's fingers slip loose of his own.

Once Thomas had stopped beside him Lord Hemsworth angled himself so that he could see both the Archbishop and Thomas. He ran his knuckles from Thomas' elbow to his shoulder in a gentle, upwards sweep.

"How are you feeling?"

Thomas hadn't been expecting the question. He had thought they would say only the ceremonial words and not speak properly until the marriage was already official, but as usual his groom surprised him.

He reached for what to say, trying for honest and yet polite. "I am...good, thank you. The crowds make me nervous but I'm quite fine. And yourself?"

The knuckles at his shoulder dropped down as Lord Hemsworth smiled, eyes bright and seeming to shimmer in the light of the high candles. He took Thomas' hand in his and squeezed it, much like his mother had done.

"I, my dear Prince, am elated."

-

An open top carriage awaited them, decorated with white and red flowers and fabrics. Four immaculate white horses whinnied before it, eager to carry the newlyweds away.

The ceremony had been quicker than Thomas expected, overall, and easier too. Lord Hemsworth's voice had been certain and strong as he relayed his vows, his focus on Thomas the entire time, and whenever Thomas had felt himself begin to wobble or forget his vows Lord Hemsworth had seemed to know just the right time to nod his encouragement or simply smile.

Their kiss had been somewhat awkward, with Thomas initially offering Lord Hemsworth his cheek before realising that they were expected to kiss on the mouth. It was a chaste touch of lips only, and yet Thomas had felt his face heat up the moment they drew away from each other.

Outside the church Lord Hemsworth - Christopher, as Thomas would now be expected to call him - reached out to clasp their hands together gently, offering another reassuring squeeze before guiding him towards the waiting carriage. Thomas half expected to be assisted up the steps like a damsel but Lord Hemsworth instead turned to offer the people a final goodbye gesture while Thomas settled himself.

"You're quite popular," Thomas noted once they were both seated, waving a final time at the cheering crowd as the horses began to move.

Lord Hemsworth nodded, confident. "Yes. They like my political ideas and as such believe that I'm a worthy husband for their beloved Prince. Now all I need to do is convince you of it."

-

A feast was held in their honour, smaller than the usual Royal wedding celebrations due to the King's condition, but the guests enjoyed their dancing and gift-giving all the same. Thomas sat beside his new husband and slowly acclimatised to the feeling of the man's warm hand around his own.

They were served sweet breads and fruit to end the feast, the first bite of which Lord Hemsworth raised to Thomas' lips as the guests clapped and celebrated. Wiping a crumb from Thomas' top lip, Lord Hemsworth took a bite from the same sweet roll and chewed with a smile, leaning closer once he'd swallowed.

"Will you call me by my name now that we are married?"

Reaching across to steal Lord Hemsworth's sweet roll Thomas met his gaze. "I suppose I might, yes."

-

One of the grand rooms had been dressed as a wedding suite for them and would thereafter be their bedroom. Thomas had requested that his own bedroom be left as it was in case he ever needed a brief respite from married life, and so he felt out of sorts as the staff guided them to the western wing of the palace.

Once alone inside the room Thomas watched as Christopher moved about, checking that all of his belongings had been delivered. He had trunks full of clothes and even more trunks full of documents and papers, all of which Thomas supposed pertained to common laws and political debate.

When Christopher moved to look out of the windows into the gardens they had explored together, Thomas cleared his throat.

"I requested one of these rooms especially," he said, trying to keep the nervous wobble from his voice. "Overlooking the grounds. I know how you enjoy them."

Christopher laid his hand on the glass for a moment before turning to look at Thomas.

"Careful," he said, a playful note in his voice. "I might start to think that you're fond of me."

Thomas had intended it as a welcome gesture, a gift of sorts, and hadn't thought of the implications of such a thing. He wished to be as light and relaxed as his new husband, but before he could attempt to respond with playfulness that didn't come naturally to him, Christopher spoke again.

"What would you like to do?"

Thomas wasn't quite sure what he meant. Surely now they would consummate their wedding, as was the done thing. Surely that is what Lord Hemsworth - Christopher - was expecting of him. He shrugged; an unstately gesture that would've earned him a telling off from the advisors.

Christopher smiled gently. "It has been quite the day," he said, coming to stand before Thomas. "Surely you're tired."

Thomas nodded. "I am, but I thou-"

"I'll have somebody draw you a bath," Christopher interrupted, already heading for the door. Thomas watched, nonplussed, as his new husband disappeared and left him alone amongst unfamiliar boxes.

True to his word Christopher returned within minutes, flanked by four servants carrying the large, claw-footed bathtub. Behind them a line of serving maids brought containers of warm water and several more followed with wood for the fire.

"How did he acquire warm water so quickly?" Thomas leaned in to ask David, who had arrived with the others.

"He's a very persuasive man," was all David said, an answer that left Thomas unsatisfied.

Once the bath was just over half full of steaming water Christopher gave his thanks and waved them off, even David who would usually have stayed to help Thomas bathe.

Thomas felt awkward, looking between the bath and his new husband, but Christopher seemed to feel no such awkwardness, moving around the tub and into Thomas' space with sure steps.

Tongue feeling thick in his mouth, Thomas found himself unable to speak or even get a deep breath. Christopher's presence seemed to fill the room, his nearness forcing Thomas to tip up his chin. He held his breath, anticipating that he was to be kissed.

"I like your flower," Christopher murmured, bypassing Thomas' mouth completely as he dipped down to tug the yellow blossom from the lapel.

Thomas tried to smile, lips wobbling with his nerves. "A little girl gave it to me. Outside of the church."

Lifting it by the stem, Christopher brushed the petals down Thomas' cheek, the feathery touch making him shiver, and then he was moving across the room to lay it down beside the bed.

There was a pot of oil there too, Thomas noticed, and he couldn't help but suck in a breath. He had never been touched in the way that he knew was expected of him now, nor had he ever touched himself in that way.

Following his gaze, Christopher pushed the pot out of sight. Thomas felt caught, embarrassed by his inability to control his nervousness. He wanted to be a good husband, if he could, but more and more he was feeling as though he may be ill-equipped for the job.

When Christopher moved into his space Thomas kept his eyes firmly focused on his chest, choosing to admire the fabric of his waistcoat rather than risk seeing disappointment in his eyes. Christopher wasn't fooled though, and hooked a finger beneath Thomas' chin which he angled up until the Prince had no choice but to meet his eyes.

"When they announced at the House of Lords that you would be made to choose a consort in haste it angered me. The thought that your marriage should be dictated for you..."

Christopher shook his head, teeth clenched in such a way that defined his jaw, and raised his hand to press warm knuckles to Thomas' cheek. "Then came the news that you wished to be matched with a man and I realised that I must put myself forward, you see? If I could win your heart then I could protect you from all of the politics." 

Subconsciously Thomas leaned into the touch. "And that was your only motive?"

Raising his other hand to cup Thomas' other cheek, thumbs brushing beneath his eyes, Christopher sighed. He did everything slowly, as though Thomas seemed liable to scurry off like a frightened rabbit.

"At first, perhaps. But then I met you, and you were everything your portraits promised and much more. I am quite captivated by you, Prince Thomas. Do you believe me?"

He seemed to be speaking the truth, not breaking their eye contact for longer than a blink and smiling with a peculiar mix of concern and sincerity. Thomas answered with a shaky nod.

"Then you should know that you need not be nervous with me. I will never make your choices for you, politically or otherwise. Now," he let his hands drop from Thomas' face to the opening of his jacket. "I should like to help you bathe, if you will allow it, but if you'd prefer to send for your valet I won't argue."

Thomas thought it an odd request, but he had to concede that the thought of sinking into the warm water was appealing, and he supposed that he would have to get used to the idea of being unclothed in front of Christopher eventually.

At least his husband hadn't expected to bed him immediately without so much as a conversation, which is what he'd feared.

"Will you be bathing also?"

Shrugging out of his jacket and rolling up one sleeve, Christopher kneeled to dip his hand into the water up to his wrist. "It's nice and warm. I can wash briefly once you've retired to bed."

It seemed, to Thomas' surprise, that his new husband didn't intend to bed him on their wedding night at all.

"Very well, then," Thomas nodded. Small steps he could do. "I have no need of my valet."

A moment passed between them, with Christopher on one knee and Thomas standing before him in some mockery of a more traditional proposal, and then Christopher stood with a smile and stepped once more into Thomas' space.

When his hands came up to Thomas' neck to unfasten the cravat, Thomas stilled him with a loose grip on his wrists.

"Will you turn around?"

Christopher frowned slightly, just a quick crease between his brows that he immediately tried to mask.

Thomas realised that in order to help him bathe his husband would have to see his body, but the idea of being exposed to him within the bath tub felt somehow different than standing bare before him. "Please? Only until I'm in the water." 

True to his word Christopher didn't argue at all, turning his back and moving to hang his discarded jacket on one of the bed posts. He removed his waistcoat too, busying himself after that with rolling up his other sleeve. The muscles of his back and shoulders shifted obviously beneath the white cotton of his shirt and Thomas wondered how long it would be before he got to see his husband naked.

Unused to the fastenings, Thomas struggled with his shirt and the fancy britches, shuffling out of his shoes and worrying that he was taking too long. “I’m sorry, I’ll only be another moment…”

Christopher huffed out a gentle laugh, turning his head just enough that Thomas would hear him when he spoke. “Take as long as you need.”

Thomas' body was pale and slight, the result of him rarely being out in the sun and never been made to lift anything other than a quill his entire life. Standing before his large husband he wished suddenly that he had led the life of a labourer or an athlete so that he could take pride in his body.

Still, he supposed he was nicer to look at that some of the Lords that Christopher spent his days with, portly and rotund from over-indulging in wine and cheese.

"Do you need help into the tub?" Christopher asked, obviously noticing the silence. "I promise to close my eyes."

Thomas refused him, using the edge of the tub to steady himself as he dipped a toe into the water.

It was only once he was in the bath properly that he allowed Christopher to turn, crossing his hands over his crotch beneath the warm water. Christopher didn't mention it, simply coming to kneel beside the tub as he had before.

“Is it warm enough?” He asked, dipping the washcloth into the water beside Thomas’ feet. A small block of yellow soap rested in a groove beside Thomas’ head and when Christopher leaned over to take it his eyes glanced briefly to Thomas’ upper chest, exposed above the waterline.

When Thomas shifted, the rippling water lapped up against his nipples and he sunk down deeper in a rush. If he could've dipped right down until only his eyes remained above the water he would have.

“It’s fine. It’s good. Thank you.”

Watching Christopher rub the soap in circles against the washcloth did something funny to Thomas' stomach. Whether it was nerves or something else he didn't want to think about.

It was his arm first that Christopher reached for, taking him by the elbow and coaxing it out of the water. Awkwardly, Thomas shifted his other hand to fully cover his nakedness even though he was sure Christopher couldn't see much in the meagre light from the fire and the few candles across the room.

He was gentle in his movements, sweeping his large hands methodically from Thomas' elbows all the way to his fingertips and back, taking special care to rub the soap into a lather.

To Thomas' surprise he found himself relaxed by the movements, lulled by the warmth of the water and the smooth touches along his skin. Every now and then he felt his husband's fingers rather than the washcloth and felt as though they left goosebumps in their wake.

Next came his armpit, running the cloth from his elbow upwards and nudging until Thomas lifted his arm. He had hair there that he felt oddly embarrassed by, but Christopher washed him with sure sweeps that didn't even tickle much. His face was a picture of concentration and Thomas watched him intently for even the slightest shift in expression.

They remained quiet, their silence only broken by the crackling of the fire and the echoing splashes of water.

Christopher dipped his hand to soak the cloth again, this time right between Thomas' slightly parted knees, but still his focus remained, almost as if the intimacy of it didn't occur to him.

"You're staring," he suddenly said, his voice a quiet rumble, and Thomas shifted his gaze away like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't. Christopher laughed, but not unkindly. "Don't worry. You're free to stare at your husband all you like."

When Thomas looked back he found that Christopher's mouth was lifted at one side in a secretive smile.

With the cloth soaped up again he swept up and over Thomas' shoulder and across to his neck, massaging as he went with deft fingers.

From the neck he moved onto Thomas' chest, lathering the pale skin with big sweeps collarbone to collarbone before pausing. Unsure why he'd stopped Thomas glanced over at him and found his husband's eyes caught on his nipples.

"Now you're staring," he whispered, and then, to show that Christopher's gaze was welcome too, he sat up straighter until the waterline was lapping at his lowest rib, leaving his nipples fully exposed to Christopher's gaze.

Without speaking Christopher began to move again, this time in slower, circular motions lower on Thomas's chest. The rough cloth against his nipples made him gasp, the feeling shooting straight down to his crotch until, to his horror, he felt himself hardening beneath his hands.

At the next touch he couldn't help but shrink away and Christopher stopped immediately, clearly concerned.

"Forgive me, i-it's quite-" Thomas managed to get out, concerned that Christopher would notice his predicament. "The cloth..."

Lifting the cloth and brushing his fingertips against it, Christopher's frown deepened. "Too rough?"

When Thomas nodded he thought that Christopher might stop, but instead he hung the cloth over the side of the tub and took the soap between his hands. Looking to Thomas for approval he rubbed it to a lather between his palms and, when Thomas didn't protest, went back to washing.

It was worse. Well, technically it was better, but for Thomas' predicament it was most definitely worse. Christopher's palms were large and equally warm as the water, and his fingertips caught on Thomas' nipples each time he swept from collarbone to ribs and back.

Blood pooled to Thomas' groin as he tried not to let loose a moan, unused to being touched so intimately with bare hands. He felt overwhelmed by it, flustered, but just as he was about to ask for a reprieve, Christopher stopped of his own accord.

Sucking in a breath and sparing a glance down to be sure that his hand still covered his hardness, Thomas watched Christopher move around the tub with soap in-hand to kneel at the other side.

This time when he reached for Thomas' elbow he wasn't able to move it so easily; not with Thomas so determined that his erection would remain hidden.

"I would wash your arm," Christopher said, gesturing to the arm he'd previously washed as though Thomas required an explanation.

Biting his lip, Thomas shook his head. "I can't..."

Christopher huffed, gesturing around with a small smile. "I assure you, in this light I can't make you out."

Still Thomas didn't budge, shaking his head again and holding his arm stiff even though Christopher hadn't tried again to pull it free.

"Darling," Christopher laughed quite suddenly, seemingly delighted. It was the first time anyone other than Thomas' mother had used such an endearment. "Have you got yourself into a predicament down there?"

So much was his embarrassment that Thomas considered letting himself slip beneath the water entirely until he passed out, but Christopher took his cheeks again between soapy palms.

"It's supposed to feel good. It's an intimate thing, is it not?" He waited for Thomas to nod, and then he reached his thumb across to tap Thomas' nose, leaving behind soapy bubbles. "There is little need to hide your pleasure from me."

And so, slowly, Thomas uncovered his hardness and reached up with the very same hand to swipe away the soap from his nose.

With a nod, Christopher held out his hand. "May I continue?"

He washed Thomas' left arm just as he had the right, slowly but methodically, concentrating as he went.

Next he moved to the foot of the tub and reached down to catch one of Thomas' feet, lifting it out and working it beneath his palms. It tickled, but no matter how Thomas wriggled he didn't let go, pushing his thumbs into the arch of Thomas' foot until he groaned.

"You're very ticklish," he commented, eyes bright in the reflection of the fire, and Thomas couldn't look away from him. He hadn't envisioned that he would even welcome his husband's touch, let alone encourage it, and yet he found himself lifting his other foot out of the water.

He was hard the entire time, somehow relaxed despite the nagging worry that Christopher would work his way up his legs to his groin and feel how much he was enjoying his bath. He was thankful, then, when Christopher washed his calves and knees only, paying particular attention to the sensitive skin behind his knees which, inexplicably, made Thomas feel almost as excited as the touch against his nipples had.

With his abdomen and stomach under the water, Thomas didn't think there was much point in going through the motions of pretending to wash there, yet Christopher did so all the same and it was as he slipped his hand down to wash the soft skin beneath Thomas' navel that the back of his hand brushed the tip of Thomas' hardness.

He stilled his hand, eyes flashing up to meet Thomas', and there they stayed for a prolonged moment, staring, and then without breaking their gaze Christopher rubbed his palm down along the length of it, causing Thomas to arch up and cry out.

He had taken his own pleasure more times than was proper for a Prince, but never had anybody else touched him there. Even David, who had dressed him each morning for years and assisted him in his usual bathing, left Thomas to his own cleaning rituals when it came to his most private place.

But he found that he welcomed Christopher's touch.

Cupping him in hand, Christopher worked his length with his palm, encouraged by the short, panting breaths that Thomas took up.

The water hindered Christopher's touch, the soap long gone from his palm. With each upwards stroke his fist broke the surface of the water, creating ripples that tickled at Thomas' parted thighs. It took only a little tilt of Thomas' hips for the crown to be exposed above the water, pink and sensitive to the cold, and when Christopher circled it with damp fingers Thomas made a sound much unlike any noise he'd ever made before.

When Christopher pulled his hand away without notice Thomas whimpered pitifully. He wanted to curl in on himself, to grip Christopher's wrist between his hands and ensure that he never stopped touching.

But Christopher didn't go far, only slipping his hand across to trace featherlight fingertips from Thomas' knee to his hip.

"Will you part your thighs for me?"

Even in his state of arousal Thomas hesitated a moment. He had long wondered about being touched in his most intimate place, had long thought of confiding in David that he required some oil in order to test the feeling himself, but in the end his shame had always gotten the better of him.

"Thomas?" Christopher gently patted the top of his thigh. "It will be quite unlike anything you've ever felt, that I vow to you."

There was an promise in his voice and in his eyes too, his sure and unwavering gaze, and Thomas let his knees fall open. Christopher moaned, sliding his palm down to touch the soft skin of Thomas's inner thigh. He lingered there, his own breath shaking notably as he slid his hand further to slip beneath the knee.

"You are something to behold, Thomas," he said, guiding Thomas to hook his leg over the edge of the tub, opening him up to be touched however his husband saw fit.

Christopher took his time, trailing the fingers of his left hand along Thomas' skin all the way from his calf to the groove of his hip and his right hand in the opposite direction down his chest and stomach. With his arms either side of Thomas’ hooked leg he was able to rest his stubbled cheek against the soft, damp skin of his knee, eyes firmly fixed on Thomas’ face all the while.

It made Thomas shudder, the sweep of joining fingertips at the soft skin where thigh met groin, and with his inhibitions truly defeated he canted up his hips again until he was bared above the water.

He cried out as he was taken in both hands, stroked base to tip with one while the other rubbed the head in circles with his palm. It was more than Thomas was accustomed to when touching himself and he had to grip the edges of the tub until his knuckles were white, chasing each stroke with a thrust of his hips.

Just as his eyelids dropped fully closed, as he gave in to the pleasure, one of Christopher’s hands moved away. Snapping his eyes back open to see, Thomas watched as Christopher reached out with his other hand and began to rub at the soap with his index and middle fingers.

Fear and excitement gripped him with equal force, his heart rate climbing impossibly even higher until he could hear it in his ears and worried that the sound would echo in the metal basin for Christopher to hear.

With his fingers lathered to excess Christopher turned back to him, laying a wet kiss on Thomas’ knee. There were no words spoken between them, no explanations or requests for permission, just the brush of Christopher’s wrist along Thomas’ inner thigh followed by the most intimate and exquisite sensation.

Christopher brushed a single digit across Thomas’ hole, fingertip catching on the furled skin, before he began to move in tight circles with more pressure. Unlike anything he'd ever felt, the sensation made a warmth bloom in Thomas’ groin that spread slowly to his stomach, causing him to alternate between hitching himself down towards Christopher's searching fingers and up into his slick fist.

It was quite unrefined, Thomas was certain of it, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

"Is this comfortable?" Christopher asked, sounding almost as exhilarated as Thomas felt even though he hadn't been touched at all.

Thomas had never imagined that his wedding night would be like this. He had envisioned himself lying prone and uncomfortable, forced to 'lie back and think of England' beneath a carelessly thrusting husband whose only goal was his own pleasure.

Thomas nodded, water sloshing around his head. "Don't stop," he gasped, desperate. "Please, Christopher..."

That seemed to encourage Christopher to double his efforts, beginning to twist his wrist on each stroke and to press more eagerly with his fingers. Thomas could feel his hole fluttering at the touch, almost as if it was trying to entice Christopher's fingers inside, but Thomas was confident now that his husband wouldn't attempt to penetrate him without the oil. 

Having his hole played with was enough, especially coupled with the stroking fist; Thomas felt as though he couldn’t breathe, but that suffocating this way would be the most pleasurable way to die.

"Don't hold back," Christopher murmured, his lips pressed once again to Thomas' knee. "Let me see you..."

And, as though he was following orders, Thomas felt himself topple over the edge, back arching without his permission as he tensed up and came with a yell that echoed inside the metal tub. Throughout, Christopher's searching fingers kept up their pace, his hand coaxing Thomas to completion, not stopping until Thomas was over-sensitised and forced to bat him away.

He felt so relaxed afterward, muscles giving in until he was pliant and limp, that he was worried he might drown but, of course, Christopher was there to hold him up, swishing water across his stomach to wash away the mess he had made of himself.

Thomas was weak-kneed when he eventually stood, thankful for Christopher's steadying hand. They stood a moment, face to face, Thomas shivering as droplets of water ran down his oversensitized body.

Christopher bent to retrieve the towel that had been left with the soap and wash cloth.

"I should've put this by the fire," he muttered as he wrapped it around Thomas' shoulders, carefully guiding him out of the bath.

Thomas felt lethargic and loose-limbed, leaning more into Christopher's hold than was strictly necessary and staying there beside him when Christopher turned to survey the bath water. It wasn't dirty - Thomas had been bathed just that morning - but at the far end of the tub, floating like a stringy cloud in the water, was evidence of Thomas' pleasure.

He felt himself blush again, turning his face into Christopher's shirt.

Christopher hummed, lifting a hand to pet Thomas' hair. "Perhaps I'll wash in the morning."

-

While he dried himself off Thomas watched from the bed as Christopher began to disrobe. Any ideas he had about being proper and averting his eyes were lost as soon as his husband tugged loose the fastenings of his shirt and shrugged the material from his shoulders. He didn’t turn away or present Thomas with his back, simply undressing himself piece by piece, taking particular care with the fastenings of the beautifully tailored trousers.

Thomas held his breath. He had abandoned any pretense of drying himself, but if Christopher was aware of his audience he didn't show it.

 When he pushed the britches down his cock sprang free, thicker than Thomas' and somewhat longer too, with balls that hung heavy between his fine, horse-rider's thighs as he kicked the material from his feet.

Everything about him was perfect to Thomas' eyes, from his strong thighs and wide shoulders to the change in his skin-tone where the sun reached his neck but not his chest. He had the sort of physicality that Thomas hadn't dared to hope for, and the thought that he might now be afforded the opportunity to explore such a body whipped up an excitement in him that he hadn't anticipated.

Thomas frowned, then, as Christopher retrieved a nightshirt from his trunk and proceeded to pull it over his head. The material, though light and almost-sheer, fell to mid-thigh and covered the parts of his husband that Thomas had been most interested in. 

Turning back and noticing his frown, Christopher approached him with outstretched arms, taking him by the shoulders. Thomas, in his sitting position, was eye-height with his ribcage and had to tilt his chin so that their eyes could meet.

"Let's get you out of this damp thing. Where are your nightshirts?"

At that moment Thomas wanted two things more than anything in the world; firstly, that Christopher not find out that he had opted to keep his own bedroom, and secondly that Christopher would remove his nightshirt.

"I don't believe I have one here," he said, wrapping his arms around Christopher's waist and pulling him close until his chin was rest against his husband's stomach.

Christopher seemed surprised by the affection but didn't argue, brushing a hand through Thomas' curls. "Perhaps you could wear one of mine."

"I don't wish to," Thomas shook his head. "And I think, for the sake of fairness, that you shouldn't wear one either."

He was met with silence, but Christopher's mouth was twitching at the corners as though he was fighting a smile.

"And why is that, My Prince?"

In Thomas' previous experience he simply had to only ask for what he wanted and he would receive it, but he was starting to see that things might be a little different with his husband.

"Well," he said, sitting back but keeping his hands on Christopher's hips. "I would like to...to look at it. And touch it perhaps, if that would please you."

He found that he enjoyed being so close to Christopher's hardness, visible as it was through his nightshirt.

"At what, Thomas? My cock?" Christopher said. Thomas gasped, embarrassed immediately that he'd done so, but Christopher only smiled. "Do princes say cock?"

It was a word he had seen in writing and heard only once, on the tongue of a servant boy who was addressing David and hadn't realised that Thomas was just around the corner. He pressed his lips together, looking back up at Christopher with a shake of his head. "I don't think so. Ordinarily."

He liked the way Christopher's eyes crinkled up when he laughed, so much that he didn't even mind if Christopher was laughing at him.

"I would very much like to hear you say it," he said, stroking his thumb down the bridge of Thomas' nose until it slipped off the end and onto his lips. "I would very much like to hear you say many naughty things."

His voice was somehow darker then, weighted down with something that caused heat to pool in Thomas' stomach again.

In a moment of bravery he nodded. "Show it to me then. Your _cock_."

He thought that Christopher would lift the material just enough to reveal himself, but instead the entire nightshirt was whipped over his head and discarded behind him. He seemed amused still, happy to take Thomas by surprise, but he made no further move than that.

"It is yours to do with as you wish, My Prince," he said, letting his hands fall to his sides. "As am I."

Biting his lip, Thomas took one final look along the length of Christopher's body before shuffling back on the bed. "Okay," he said as confidently as he could. "Lie down. 

Christopher did as he was told, and Thomas was so pleased with his obedience that he didn't even inform him that he was on Thomas' side of the bed.

Kneeling over him as Christopher settled into place, Thomas rid himself of the towel, trying not to squirm beneath the gaze that suddenly fell on him.

Christopher's cock was rosy at the top and arched hopefully up towards his stomach. It twitched quite violently when Thomas took it in hand, and Christopher's knee jerked too, causing Thomas to snigger. 

"Do not laugh at me," Christopher huffed, prodding Thomas' thigh with one finger. "I have thought a long time of this." 

Warmed by the thought, Thomas became less tentative in his touch. Truthfully it felt just like Thomas' own save for the fact that his fingers only just touched at the base, such was the thickness of it. Leaning over to properly see, he stroked downwards until the shiny tip of Christopher's cock was revealed beneath his foreskin. A second stroke covered it up only to reveal it again, and Christopher reacted audibly to the touch.

"Is it good?" Thomas asked, worrying that he was perhaps prioritising his own curiosity over Christopher's pleasure.

"You can be rougher with me," Christopher said, taking hold of Thomas' fist and guiding him, groaning deeply when Thomas took the hint and tightened his fist. "Yes," he breathed, throwing back his head. "Like that."

After that his hand fell away and he left Thomas to it, lifting his head to watch as Thomas began a rhythm, listening for sounds of pleasure or discomfort to learn his husband's preferences. Christopher's other hand came to rest at the back of Thomas' neck, massaging there gently while he worked.

"I want you to- to..." Thomas faltered, biting his lip. He wasn't sure of what to say, how to verbalise his desire.

As always Christopher knew his mind and again he laughed a little, though he sounded short of breath. "I will come for you, Thomas, but I cannot do so on command." 

Blushing, Thomas redoubled his efforts, determined to make Christopher 'come'. It took longer than he would've liked, and his arm had begun to ache by the time Christopher became unable to resist thrusting his hips up into the touch. 

The angle was better, he found, if he laid himself down, and so he rested his head against Christopher's chest, enjoying the rise and fall of his laboured breaths and the way his sounds of pleasure seemed to echo beneath his ribs.

Suddenly remembering the technique Christopher had implemented, of twisting his fist around the head with each upwards stroke, Thomas began to imitate it, taking care to be rough without causing pain. He found that he took a great pleasure in having the power to make his husband feel good.

It took him by surprise when Christopher came with a yell, a sound that rumbled from deep in his chest, loud in Thomas' ear and utterly thrilling. His come was copious, jetting out further than his belly button and almost hitting Thomas on the chin.

Thomas sat up to watch, hypnotised by the way his husband's stomach tightened up to reveal hidden muscle and his hips jerked over and over as he was milked of every last drop. 

Of all Thomas' studies he couldn't remember enjoying any as much as he enjoyed learning his husband's body.

Once he was completely spent Christopher sat himself up with a groan, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and staying there for a moment. 

"Where are you going?" Thomas asked, reaching out for his back. "I forbid you from wearing that nightshirt."

That earned him a laugh. "You forbid me, do you?" He sounded wrecked, utterly finished, and of that Thomas was proud. "What a good job I'm only going to clean myself, then." 

He hissed as he splashed his stomach and crotch with the now-cold water from the tub, finding Thomas' damp towel afterwards and drying himself as best he could.

His cock was soft but still thick, resting atop his balls as he moved back towards the bed, and Thomas vowed to himself that soon he would play with it while it was soft and watch it harden.

It excited him to think of all the things he and his new husband would do together.

Reaching the bed, Christopher grabbed Thomas by his ankles and pulled until he was lying flat, throwing the thick blanket over him and lying down beside him.

"You're on my side of the bed," Thomas told him petulantly, making a show of trying to fight him off when Christopher paid him no heed and instead flipped him onto his side and crowded in behind him. He was no match, of course, and ended up with his hands pinned to his stomach beneath Christopher's large palm.

"Chris-" he gasped out, breaking off to giggle when Christopher tipped his head forwards and laid a kiss at the nape of his neck.

Christopher's hum was warm. "My brothers call me that," he said. "Chris. You can too, if you like."

Thomas laughed. "I'm barely used to calling you  _Christopher_."

Chris shrugged. "Whatever makes you happy," he murmured, voice sincere. "That's my primary duty as your husband, you know. To make you happy." His lips brushed Thomas' skin and his hand was warm and secure around his waist.

"Well I have to confess," Thomas replied, wiggling backwards and finally relaxing into the warm hold. "You've made a fine start."


	2. Lord Over Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Hemsworth settles into married life with Prince Thomas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some post-Valentines fluff for my very dear friends and everyone who read, commented on and reblogged the first part. I'd have never written a sequel if not for you all.
> 
> Particular thanks go to [umakoo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/umakoo) for hand-holding, reading and then re-reading while I complained and questioned myself over this.

"What do you mean you're leaving?"

With his hands planted firmly on his hips Thomas looked as though he was attempting to be authoritative and strong, but it was somewhat undermined by his near-nakedness.

Christopher tried not to smile, pausing his packing to turn his attention wholly to his husband. "We discussed my journey to Dover two days ago."

"Yes," Thomas huffed, hopping down from the bed. His nightshirt only just brushed at his pale thighs, an all-too-tempting sight. "A three day trip on Wednesday, I recall, and it's only Monday."

He wasn't wrong, but Christopher had received a telegraph in the early hours describing an urgency in the docking town that couldn't wait.

"I'm going earlier than planned." He resumed his packing in the hopes of discouraging an argument, but Thomas stomped a foot like a petulant pony.

"I forbid you from going!"

Patiently, Christopher closed his eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Darling. You can't speak to me in that tone, I'm your husband not your valet."

Thomas gasped as if insulted by the comment. "I would never speak to David like that."

"And yet you do so with me?"

With a pout, Thomas slumped down onto the bed. "It just isn't fair! We've been married but a week, aren't I allowed to enjoy my new marriage for at least a month before we're rudely separated?"

Christopher softened then, moving to sit beside Thomas on the bed. "I will be home by week's end. There will be a debate soon about the proposed shipping cargo reforms and I have been warded with the job of travelling to the docks to meet with the shipping owners."

His fingers found their way into Thomas' curls.

"But you're the Prince Consort now," Thomas complained, resting his forehead on Christopher's shoulder. "You needn't work anymore."

Smiling, Christopher tipped his chin down to lay a kiss atop his husband's head. He had of course hoped that Thomas would come to like him but he'd never have dreamed that their closeness would come so quickly.

They had spent the nights since their wedding learning each other's bodies and the days solidifying their bond, reading to one another and telling tales. They had scarcely been apart and Christopher now wondered if that had been a mistake.

"Do you think that would make me happy?" He asked, gently as he could. "Giving up my work?"

There was a long pause as Thomas seemed to consider that, and when he spoke it was with reluctance. "No."

"Well then," Christopher stood, moving back to his luggage. "I will return to you on Friday and you can hold me prisoner in this very room all weekend if you desire."

"Yes," Thomas fought off a smile, still trying to look stern. "And then perhaps we might finally consummate our union."

Christopher couldn't help his answering smirk.

"Perhaps we might."

-

Thomas saw him to the main doors of the palace, eyes darting around the staff who walked along beside them. He seemed torn between reaching out for Christopher and keeping a proper distance, as though he was shy about their closeness becoming common knowledge.

"How long is the journey?" He asked in his most Princely tone, and Christopher obliged him by using a polite and less-familiar tone in response than he would've liked.

"Sixty miles or so. We'll stop only to change horses and, should we make good time, will arrive there by this evening. If not we will stop overnight at a tavern and continue our journey in the morning. You needn’t worry."

With his lips pressed tightly together Thomas nodded bravely, and when the palace doors were pulled open the blinding light of the sun illuminated his face, painting his eyelashes gold.

All determination to leave fled from Christopher then, replaced by guilt and longing to stay. With a deep breath he reached out to place a hand on Thomas' shoulder, squeezing reassuringly before dropping his arm and turning to leave, fearing that if he opened his mouth he would end up offering to stay.

He only made it down two steps before Thomas murmured his name, and when he turned back Thomas came closer, the steps making their height more equal. He stilled as Thomas fixed the embellished fabric of his lapel, smoothing the material down with a flat palm.

"Will you miss me?" He asked with a mixture of coyness and what sounded like genuine worry.

The staff averted their eyes as Christopher gripped him gently by the back of the neck. "More than you know," he said, hoping that his husband would find comfort in it.

-

His travel companion was a man named Bruhl, a German Herr who had married the daughter of a British Lord and taken an interest in English politics. His seat in the House was honorary only but he offered his advice and services much more keenly than many of the other young Lords and, as such, had become popular with the elders amongst them.

He had long been lulled to sleep by the rhythmic to-and-fro of the carriage and so Christopher was left alone to his thoughts for most of the journey.

He found it tiring and uncomfortable - having declined the use of a royal carriage for fear of being robbed by highwaymen - and his only comfort was the idea of Thomas finding the letter he had left between their pillows.

_Dearest Thomas,_

_I write this as you sleep. Already I anticipate your displeasure with me when you wake, but know that I do not leave you lightly._

He'd sat, in the early hours, at the small desk in the corner of their room, eyes flitting between the page and Thomas in their bed with his hair ruffled and lips parted in a gentle snore. He'd wanted nothing more than to crawl in beside him and kiss him awake but he would not, could not, give up his seat in the House of Lords to become a glorified consort and he had gone to great lengths to make the shipping reforms his business.

_Our first meeting, at Duke Harrington's harvest ball, you blushed pink as a rose beneath my gaze and I knew that I would love you if you allowed it._

_Had I anticipated the fierceness of that love then, believe me, I would never have agreed to this trip. Unfortunately for us both I am nothing if not a man who keeps his word, and so I must go._

Once the reforms had been dealt with he would take less work outside of London in order to remain nearby but he had been on the Dover shipping case since it had arisen and was determined to see it through.

_I will miss your warmth beside me. So quickly have I become accustomed to it that I fear I may not sleep a single moment without you._

Each night Thomas would part his thighs and beg for Christopher to take him as a husband should, to make their marriage final, and each night Christopher had resisted for fear of hurting him.

_In the trunk at the foot of the bed you will find my nightshirts and amongst them two pots of oil. The topmost nightshirt is the one you stripped me of last night, and in my mind I see you wearing it as you make use of the oil._

He couldn't help but smile as he imagined Thomas reading his words and blushing warm with arousal, his lovely cock hardening as he took in each word.

_Will you indulge me, my love? Think not of modesty and propriety, pleasure isn't shameful. Part your sweet thighs. Oil your fingers generously and pretend they are mine, tease yourself - your greedy little hole - with the pads of your fingers. You whimper so prettily when I touch you this way._

_Open yourself up. One finger at first, just as I do, to further tease and entice your entrance to relax and welcome more._

He had grown hard just writing it, already well versed in the sounds of pleasure he could wring from Thomas. His mind had never conjured a prettier sight than that of his husband wearing his nightclothes, writhing beautifully with his own fingers stuffed deep inside himself.

_Two fingers then, darling, until that feels so good you can take a third. Fuck yourself with them as I will fuck you, slowly and deeply._

He liked to use that word. Fuck. It was filthy and visceral, improper, and it made Thomas react in the most wonderful way; ashamed and eager at once. He would chastise Christopher afterwards for using such a boorish and vulgar word but in the darkness of their bedroom it made him part his thighs wider, beg more desperately.

_Touch yourself - your thighs or nipples perhaps - and bring yourself to climax. It will feel good, so good that instead of taking your manhood in hand you may need to take your fingers into your mouth to keep yourself quiet._

He liked when Thomas did that; so concerned with modesty that he insisted upon biting down on his own fingers to muffle his sounds of pleasure. More recently he had taken to suckling on Christopher's fingers instead, biting down as he came and leaving indentations in the skin.

_I will enjoy imagining you taking your own pleasure each night I am away, and if you do as instructed then upon my return we will be ready to share each other in the way that we both desire._

He had finished his letter and stamped the wax seal on it with shaking hands, longing to feel Thomas beneath him.

_Until Friday, dearest one._

_Your Christopher._

-

Sea salt lingered in the air of Dover, carried on the wind through the open window of the tavern. They had travelled the entire day, taking short tea breaks while the horses were changed in order to make good time. At Dover they had been greeted by a local councilman and had taken supper with him and his wife before being shown to the tavern where they would stay.

They were fair rooms, for the price, but even after the long journey and a hefty meal Christopher knew he wouldn't sleep easily. He had grown accustomed to Thomas’ warmth beside him, one leg thrown over his and the warm, slow breath of sleep caressing his chest.

He thought of Thomas alone in their big bed, pliant and relaxed after doing as asked in the letter, and with a long sigh he took himself in hand, hoping to exhaust himself further.

-

The trip proved to be frustrating at best and downright maddening at worst, Christopher more sure with each passing day that it was a waste of time and certainly not worth parting with Thomas for. Their meetings told them nothing they didn’t already know save that the cargo companies and the insurers loathed each other and each cared for nothing but money. No compromise existed that would please both parties and whatever the high court ruled would be met with scorn from one side.

On their final morning at Dover their meeting ran late and it was ten o'clock before they were ready to leave. Bruhl, still unsure of the English countryside, suggested they stay another night but Christopher staunchly refused, unwilling to unnecessarily lengthen their stay.

Bruhl conceded but took to silence while their things were loaded into the carriage, and it wasn't until they set off that he spoke again.

"I suppose you will be glad to get back to the Prince.”

Christopher found it hard to read his tone, in large part due to his accent, and so his reply was perhaps a little more guarded than was necessary. "Yes, as I'm sure you will be equally pleased to return to your wife."

Bruhl smiled as if the reaction amused him, turning to look out if the window. "I meant nothing by it."

They had talked only business during their trip, visiting the ports and meeting with some of the business owners there, as well as attending a meeting of the town council. Each night they had taken dinner together in the tavern with paperwork between them, struggling to eat and jot down their findings at the same time, let alone make small talk about their private lives.

"You know," Bruhl spoke again, a gentle shrug of his shoulders. "You're Royalty now. You'll have to forgive people their curiosity."

Christopher huffed, shaking his head, and looked out of his own window.

They stopped several times to change horses, managing to get back into town as night was drawing in, and Bruhl slept for most of it, waking halfway only for long enough to tell Christopher of an idea for the shipping reform as if it had come to him in his sleep.

Bruhl's house was near to the House of Lords and he was taken there first, Christopher waiting patiently while his things were unloaded and taken inside. Only once the carriage set off for the Palace did he acknowledge the stirrings of excitement in his stomach.

He wondered once again if Thomas had enjoyed his letter and done as asked, whether he would receive a frosty welcome or find himself with the attentions of an eager and affectionate Prince.

Either way he'd expected Thomas to be waiting for him despite the late hour, perched on the steps sulking perhaps, but he was greeted only by the royal valet he'd been given on the day of the wedding, along with two other gentlemen staff to deal with his luggage and three stable boys who were to see to the carriage.

"Where is the Prince?" He asked without preamble, keen to see Thomas right away. "Surely he isn't already asleep?"

The valet looked between the other two men before turning back to Christopher, his expression unsure. "I believe he might be, My Lord," he nodded, not quite meeting Christopher's eyes. "In his own room."

Taking pause, Christopher shifted his gaze between the three men and cleared his throat.

"His own room?"

-

It was as large as their suite, though the colour scheme was somewhat different and the large windows didn't face the garden. The bookshelves were almost as full as the ones in the main study downstairs, the desk in the corner scattered with half-written letters and the bed laden with blankets upon blankets.

Thomas was asleep on the futon by the dying fire, one arm hanging down to the floor and the other resting atop the large book that lay open on his stomach, and after a moment Christopher moved towards him.

He crouched, tipping his head to study Thomas' sleeping face for a moment before slipping the book free from beneath his hand. Thomas stirred then, blinking his eyes open in confusion.

He hummed, a pleased sound, and reached out drowsily. "You're home."

Christopher nodded, smiling softly and brushing a stray curl away from his eyes. "Yes, and I appear to have found your secret room."

Tom pushed himself up slowly, one side of his hair flattened somewhat by the pillow, and looked around only briefly before shuffling forwards on the futon and pressing himself to Christopher's chest.

"I like it in here, our room felt strange without you in it," he murmured, nose tipped up towards Christopher's throat. "You smell good."

Christopher was sure that he bore the aroma of horses and day-old perspiration but Thomas obviously didn't care, nuzzling in closer beneath his chin.

"That was a very naughty letter you left on my pillow," he murmured, hands sneaking to wrap around Christopher's waist as he spread his knees and shuffled closer, arse barely on the edge of the futon.

"And did you do as I suggested?" Christopher prodded, slipping his hands from Thomas' knees up his thighs. "Did you touch yourself, darling?"

In the pause between them he steadied himself to hear all about it, already imagining his sweet boy slick to the wrists with an excess of oil and stuffed full of his own fingers, but Thomas only turned his face, playing coy.

"I couldn't possibly tell you."

He was still warm and pliant in the lingering daze of sleep and so Christopher slipped hands beneath his thighs and lifted him, groaning with the effort it took. Thomas clung to him as they crossed the room, emitting a surprised sound as he was dropped unceremoniously into the thick blankets on the bed.

Christopher followed him down, pleased when Thomas tipped his chin up for a kiss. He was sugar sweet beneath the slight sourness of sleep and Christopher chased the taste with his tongue.

"Mm," he hummed into the kiss, slipping a hand between them to begin working on the fastenings of Thomas' britches. "Perhaps you can show me instead?"

Thomas blew out a breath, turning his flushed face away just as he had before. The movement bared his pale neck, the soft curls behind his ear, and Christopher nuzzled at him there. "Christopher," he gasped, "Can you take me to our bed?"

Something in his tone made Christopher pull back, smoothing his knuckles from Thomas' cheek to his jaw. "What is it?"

Clearly embarrassed, Thomas wriggled beneath him. He was hard, Christopher could feel that much, but his palms were flattened defensively against Christopher's chest. "These things are to be done in our marriage bed, not in the room where I spent my childhood."

Despite having spent their first week of marriage ridding Thomas of his obsession with propriety and showing him all sorts of pleasures, it shouldn't have come as a shock to Christopher that he wanted to do this in accordance with what was proper and right.

"My sweet thing..." he murmured, sliding his thumb against Thomas' lips, plush and warm from being kissed. "You don't wish to be fucked in your childhood bed?"

Wriggling now with more force Thomas flushed hotter but had to fight to hide his smile.

"You are a vulgar man." He tried unsuccessfully to shove Christopher off. "How did they allow me to marry you?"

It was easy to pin his hands above his head, not least because his fighting was all for show, and when Christopher kissed him again he accepted it hungrily.

"Because," Christopher whispered against his lips, "I promised to take care of you."

It wasn't the truth, of course. The advisors had chosen Christopher as a suitor because he had political influence and popularity, but he wasn't sure it would do Thomas well to learn that his closest acquaintances didn't always have his best interests at heart.

Christopher let his stubble scrape lightly against Thomas's jaw. "And I intend to, in every way you can imagine."

Thomas nodded. "And I you, so then let us go to our bed."

With half a mind to throw him over his shoulder and rush to their room, Christopher was careful to remind himself that even their own home was full of curious eyes. He pulled himself to his feel and adjusted his hardness before reaching down to help Thomas up.

"Quickly then," he said, "or else I might be tempted to take you in the hallway."

-

Their fireplace was lit but it had only been recently done if the chill in the air was anything to judge by, but as Christopher lifted Thomas' blouse to reveal stiff little nipples he found that he didn't mind the cold.

"Is there oil left?" He asked, already reaching for the fastenings of Thomas' britches.

Thomas slipped away from him and crawled across the bed to his bedside table, affording Christopher a view of his glorious, trouser-clad arse. With the oil in hand he simply flopped down onto his back, lifting his hips in a silent order for his husband to undress him.

"I really am a glorified valet, aren't I?" Christopher huffed as he did as he was told, purposefully allowing his knuckles to brush Thomas' hardness at every opportunity.

Thomas, pressing up into the touches, moaned, "Well what need have I of a valet when you have promised to take care of me?"

Raising a brow, Christopher tugged the material away from Thomas' hips and laid a kiss at the pale skin beneath his navel. "Don't let David hear you saying that."

Once Thomas had been divested of his britches, socks and underthings Christopher made quick work of his own clothes, leaving Thomas reclined on the bed in his loose blouse.

Leaning up on his elbows he drank in the sight of Christopher's body as if he was seeing it for the first time, knees parting so subtly that it could've been subconscious.

Christopher wasn't yet fully hard and so took himself in hand, but Thomas sat up further and wet his lips.

"Let me help you," he said, reaching out, and once Christopher was kneeling up on the bed Thomas scooted closer, taking hold of him by the hips.

Nothing had surprised Christopher more than the speed and enthusiasm with which Thomas had taken to using his mouth on Christopher's cock. What had begun as a means to bring his husband more quickly to hardness had become something of a past time for the Prince, who had woken Christopher on two occasions - once in the morning and once in the dead of night - with his eager mouth.

Threading fingers into his curls Christopher held his hips still, taking great pains not to thrust or push but simply to let Thomas do as he desired. He was playful about it, liked to stroke Christopher’s foreskin back to reveal the shiny, pink head and kiss at it and lick there a little before taking him into his mouth. With his hands he would pet and stroke at Christopher’s stomach and the lines of his hips, occasionally opening his eyes and looking up into Christopher’s own; an impossible picture of innocence and mischief all at once.

The moment he was satisfied with Christopher’s hardness he moved back, parting his legs once more and lowering himself onto the pillows. His nightshirt he lifted only enough to expose his own hardness, palming at it briefly before reaching down to lift his sac out of the way. His hole was barely visible from where Christopher was and yet the assuredness with which Thomas exposed himself stole all of his breath.

Without being prompted Thomas lifted the lid away from the oil and dipped two fingers inside, slipping his other hand beneath his knee to hold himself open as he brought his oiled fingers to his entrance.

“I have found that this is the most comfortable way,” he said, circling his entrance with both fingers.

It had been a fleeting thought only, when Christopher had suggested that Thomas should show him how he had touched himself; he hadn’t for a moment thought that Thomas would actually do it.

“It has been the most torturous week,” Thomas whispered as he pressed his first finger inside, letting his head drop back against the pillow, hooded eyes remaining stuck on Christopher’s face. “I have no idea how you dared to leave me like this.”

“Darling…” Christopher could only shake his head, also at a loss as to how he had ever felt that shipping reforms were more important. Thomas was a vision to behold, hips undulating ever so subtly as he pressed his second finger inside with very little difficulty. Christopher could scarcely look away, rendered dumb by the sight before him.

“If I were a cruel husband-” Thomas said, voice catching as he pulled both of his fingers free to gather more oil. For a moment his hole clenched around nothing as if desperate to be filled again and, now better acquainted with his own body than Christopher could’ve hoped, Thomas obliged - this time with three fingers. They were a much tighter fit and yet Thomas barely flinched as he pressed inside to the knuckle, his mouth falling open around a moan. “If I were a cruel husband I would make you promise never to leave me again before I let you lay a finger on me.”

The very worst of it was that they both knew Christopher would agree if such a demand were put upon him, and so it came as a relief when Thomas beckoned him closer.

Crawling over him, Christopher used one hand to hold his weight and the other to take hold of Thomas’ cheek, caressing there gently, shaking his head. “I would have you happy.”

Lips pressed together in a smile, Thomas nodded, leaning up as best he could to kiss at Christopher’s chin and mouth, shoulder angled up so that he could still work his fingers in and out of himself.

"Then please," he said, letting go of his knee to take hold of Christopher’s hand and encourage it down between his legs. "Don't make me wait any longer."

Once Thomas pulled his own fingers free Christopher was able to tease at his slick hole, rubbing at first with rough fingertips in a way that made Thomas arch up let out a displeased whine. A fire sparked behind his eyes, mouth twisting as if to tell Christopher off for teasing him, but before he could even draw in another breath Christopher pressed two thick fingers deep inside.

Eyes firmly fixed on Thomas’ face he held them there, rubbing carefully inside until he found the spot that made Thomas let loose a sound from deep in his throat.

“I could not-” Thomas gasped, eyes pinching closed as Christopher drew back and pressed a third finger in alongside the first two. His fingers were less slick than Thomas’ had been and much thicker and so it took a push to get inside, and yet Thomas took it. “I could not find that spot on my own,” he finished.

“That’s okay,” Christopher hummed, peppering kisses along Thomas’ cheek. “I’m here now.”

With more oil he was better able to pleasure Thomas with his three fingers, sitting back on his heels so that he could hold him open and get a better look at his fingers being welcomed into Thomas’ incredible heat.

“Now, husband, please,” Thomas whimpered, reaching out to smooth his fingers down Christopher's stomach to take his hardness in hand.

Nodding, Christopher used the remainder of the oil on his manhood, slicking himself from root to tip, paying no mind to the fact that a lot of it dripped down his sac and thighs.

He had experienced being entered only once, in his youth when he had grown besotted with an acquaintance of his father’s, and it had been singularly the most uncomfortable and painful experience of his life, with little care given to his own pleasure. He was determined that Thomas’ experience would be nothing like it.

“Spread your knee for me,” he murmured, lowering himself again. Thomas tipped up his hips, mouth open sweetly in concentration as he tried helpfully to line their bodies up. He whimpered when Christopher, cock still in hand, rubbed the head against his furled entrance, shaking with the anticipation.

The first press into Thomas' warmth was easier than he anticipated but still Thomas winced, gasping in a quick breath and reaching to grip at Christopher's sides.

“Relax,” Christopher nodded, stilling his hips but leaning down to press their foreheads together. He could feel Thomas’ quick breaths against his lips, feel how he shook with each inhale. “It will be uncomfortable at first but I won’t hurt you. Trust me.”

Christopher held himself strong despite his muscles trembling with the effort, and after a moment Thomas nodded, sliding his hands down to Christopher’s hips to help guide his thrusts. Together they set the pace, a shallow in and out that teased the tip of Christopher’s cock, each forwards push a little deeper, inch by agonising inch.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispered, kissing at Thomas’ open mouth, and had his lower lip nipped for his trouble.

“Perhaps,” Thomas said breathily, thoughtful, waving a hand beside his hip that was awkwardly held some inches off the mattress. “Perhaps if you could...prop me up somehow?”

With quick thinking Christopher reached for his pillow, mournfully allowing himself to slip free of Thomas’ body while he arranged it beneath him, and Thomas used that time to pull his nightshirt over his head. With his hips elevated and his knees still parted Thomas made quite the sight, chest flushed, hole slick and shining in the candlelight, fluttering visibly as if asking to be filled.

Entering him was much easier, one thrust filling him almost completely, and though Thomas cried out it was a ragged sound, as thick with pleasure as it was with discomfort. Bearing down once more saw Christopher all the way inside, nestled skin to skin, and when he tried to remain like that a moment for Thomas’ comfort he found that Thomas began to tip his hips back and forth.

“That’s it,” Christopher pulled back slowly, feeling every inch and almost maddened by the tight friction. Thomas keened, high-pitched and desperate, tightening his thighs to keep Christopher from getting too far.

When he pushed back in it wasn’t gentle, couldn’t be with both of them so desperate, but Thomas moaned all the same, pushing up with his hips as if he couldn’t help himself. The rhythm they found was staggered, slow and deep, and throughout it all Christopher kept a steadfast focus on Thomas’ face, on his fluttering eyelids and his trembling lips.

“You are perfect,” he murmured, nosing along Thomas’ jaw to his ear, laying untidy kisses there as his thrusts shook them both. “You’re heaven.”

Close like this he could hear every tiny sound from Thomas’ lips, could hear how his deep thrusts forced quick little exhale’s from Thomas’ lips. When he pulled back he found Thomas’ eyes damp, tearing up at the corners when he blinked, and yet his heels dug in at Christopher’s lower back and squeezed him close, body meeting him each time he drove his hips forwards.

“Feels good?” He asked to be sure, bottoming out again and revelling in Thomas’ hiccuped little cry. “You like it like that? Like it deep?”

“Yes,” Thomas breathed out, tongue flicking out to lick at his dry lips. “Yes, please, more.”

He was beautifully delirious, tipping his head this way and that, reaching up with his own fingers to stifle the sounds. Christopher grit his teeth and, despite the dull burn in his thighs, kept up his pace, thankful for the sturdiness of their bed.

“Will you say it, darling?” He took hold of Thomas’ cheek to steady him, held them eye to eye, marvelled in Thomas’ pupils blown so wide they seemed to eclipse the blues of his iris. “Say it.”

One, two, three thrusts before Thomas opened his mouth, his messy curls bouncing with each forceful shove, and then he inhaled deeply. “Fuck me,” he whimpered, shame and desire heavy in his voice. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.”

Everything about it spoke to the deepest, most base part of Christopher; his beautiful sweet boy uttering such obscenity, abashed and yet desperate, reduced to a whimpered beg. It took little effort to get his knees more securely under himself and begin to drive his hips more steadily, deep and yet quick enough to rattle cries from deep in Thomas’ chest.

There could be no doubt that Thomas was getting what he had begged for, being thoroughly fucked with every ounce of energy that Christopher had left, and though he could no longer keep up with his matching thrusts he held on tightly, toes and fingers curling as he was brought closer to the edge.

One desperate hand rushing down between their bodies to grasp at his own cock, Thomas parted his lips around a whisper of _‘yes, Chris-’_ and stroked himself only once or twice before his body went still, tightening up as he came, muscles squeezing where their bodies were joined.

Slowing his thrusts, Christopher let Thomas ride out his orgasm. Thomas’ neck was shiny with perspiration and Christopher kissed him there, letting out a pleased hum as Thomas’ muscles fluttered and twitched around his cock.

Thomas lay pliant afterwards and let Christopher fuck into him, dazed and still catching his breath, shaking fingers reaching up to cup Christopher’s face. The thrusts were shallower, quicker, all about Christopher as Thomas had already taken his own pleasure. The frantic movements jolted Thomas and drew pretty noises from him, and Christopher grit his teeth until his jaw ached. Any attempt at discretion was lost as he came with a loud cry, hips flush with Thomas’ arse as he stilled and emptied inside his warmth.

He didn’t withdraw right away, wanting to prolong the moment, and Thomas wrapped shaking legs around him and held on, hiding his face by Christopher’s shoulder as if the nature of what they had done was only just occurring to him. Holding him tighter, Christopher laughed, laying a kiss at the top of his head.

Thomas whimpered once Christopher allowed his softening cock to slip free, but laid back and allowed himself to be cleaned up with his own forgotten nightshirt, letting out a little moan when the material passed over his pink hole.

"Now I am well and truly married," he noted as Christopher tossed the nightshirt aside and laid himself down along Thomas’ side.

"Yes you are," Christopher said, pulling him close.

Afterwards they lay listening to the other breathe. Christopher traced the small of his husband's back with light fingers, pleased when Thomas pressed closer to his side in order to escape the tickle.

“I read your letter so often I should have it memorised,” Thomas said into the near-silence, rubbing his cheek against Christopher’s chest like a nuzzling kitten, fingertips walking a line from one nipple to the other. “What you said about...about not realising how fiercely you would love me…”

He hesitated, sitting up a little to look at Christopher’s face. His forehead was creased delicately with something akin to worry, his mouth pursed.

“I know I made little secret of my reservations. I didn’t know that I would ever love you at all.”

That had been apparent to Christopher even as late as their wedding day, but he had been determined that he would prove himself, had done everything he could to make Thomas comfortable and surpass his - likely low - expectations.

“But I do,” Thomas said, not even breaking their eye contact to blink. “I love you very much.”

Christopher had always considered himself a romantic, but the way his stomach fluttered at Thomas’ words surprised him. Reaching up to stroke his thumb across Thomas’ mouth, Christopher nodded, pulling him back down to the bed. “I know, darling. I know.”


End file.
